As has become customary, July was a whirlwind of a month for Mom and me.
In addition to having her annual CT scans done, as well as the every-four-months round of labwork to check numbers as part of the post-chemo monitoring process, we had the added concern of an unexpected visit to her dermatologist to check out something suspicious I found on her leg just before the Independence Day holiday weekend.
The biopsy results from the mole they removed took a long time to come in. It was my first real experience dealing with the wait times often associated with biopsies. Like many people, I was a nervous wreck contemplating the possibility of hearing the "c" word again, especially considering mom had dealt with skin cancer 20 or so years ago (basal cell carcinoma) and also considering everything she's gone through since her 2022 colon cancer diagnosis.
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Fortunately, we received good news: Benign. Whew! What a relief. No more worrying about that.
But the worry was still strong for the CT scans that would come a few days later.
Mom was such an absolute trooper that day despite the anxiousness she and I both felt, and as they wheeled her back to the CT scan room, they actually allowed me to go in with her for the first time since all of this started.
I looked over at the machine and commented on how it looked like a large, white, powdered donut (but much less appealing). While chuckling and small talk continued, I also helped them get Mom onto the flat part of the machine she had to lie on. I knew she was uncomfortable, but the staff made sure to give her the pillows she needed to make having to go through what she was a little more tolerable.
Then the hard part for me came when they started the IV (she's not a fan of needles), and then I had to leave the room as they prepared to do the scans. I don't like leaving her alone on these appointments, but I understood why, so I walked away as we gave each other reassuring smiles.
As I sat outside the room alone, listening every time they told her to "take a deep breath and hold," a nurse and someone who presumably was a medical consultant walked by. My eyes were misty, but I acknowledged them by saying hello and nodding, not thinking much of it.
Minutes later, though, the same nurse returned and asked me if I was okay. I told her yes, but she wasn't buying it and reached into an office to grab some tissues for me.
Then she did something that really surprised me.
As busy as that hospital is, she sat down and talked to me for a full ten minutes and mostly just listened while asking questions about mom and my role as her caregiver. We found out we had had similar experiences, as her mom had gone through another kind of cancer herself.
It just felt so good to not just be seen but heard by someone in the medical profession who could identify with what I had gone through as not just a caregiver but a daughter.
When it was time to wrap up and take Mom home, there was more small talk between everyone as we helped her back into the transport chair. Right before I wheeled her down the hallway, I said "thank you" again to everyone involved, and the nurse who had talked to me did the heart symbol with her hand.
It was like God had sent her to carry me through a moment in my life where I felt like I was hanging on by a thread.
Two days later, when Mom went in to get the labwork done and had a discussion of the CT results with her oncologist, I told the head nurse there about my experience at the hospital, and she was amazed, considering the workload, that the nurse was able to take significant time out from her workday to comfort me.
The even better news was that the doctor confirmed the CT results were encouraging. His words were that the results "looked great": No sign of metastatic spread. And Thursday, we learned her CEA number from the labs, which the doctor later emailed was "normal" and supported his belief that she remains in remission.
Thank you, Jesus. Three big blessings this month regarding my mom's health. We both breathed sighs of relief, feeling grateful for the encouraging news (and the prayers from everyone) and praying for more at future appointments.
There was one thing on one of the reports I asked him about, and while he wasn't overly concerned, he did say he could refer us to a specialist who could answer more questions we had and talk about options if interested.
But I already know that if it involves having anything invasive done, my mom is unlikely to go for it. She's been poked and prodded a lot over the last few years, and I know she's grown weary of it. The last few weeks of worry and then having to shuffle back and forth between offices were challenging for her, not to mention all that's gone on over the last three years of her journey.
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I've told her I will support her health decisions, whatever they may be. As I've noted before, I learned with my dad at a certain point that when someone has gone through as much as he (and she) has, respecting their decisions on balance is the right thing to do because they are the ones who are actually going through it. Further, it just doesn't seem fair to keep asking them to do uncomfortable things because you want them to defy the odds and stay with us forever.
In any event, the latest round of hurdles has, thankfully, been jumped, and now mom and I can sit back and catch our collective breath. As to what we do next? Whatever she wants to (which will probably involve ice cream and pizza).
